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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28803111">Symbiosis</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dialectica_esoterica/pseuds/dialectica_esoterica'>dialectica_esoterica</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumiliatedRook/pseuds/HumiliatedRook'>HumiliatedRook</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Nocturne [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Queen's Gambit (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1960s, Actual chess games, After Moscow, Canon Compliant, Chess, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Historical Accuracy, Intimacy, Jealousy, Making Love, Making Out, Making Up, Miami, Minimal I Swear, New York City, Post-Canon, Reunions, Sexual Tension, Slight D/s Dynamics, Spanking, Titty slapping</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:48:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,060</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28803111</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dialectica_esoterica/pseuds/dialectica_esoterica, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumiliatedRook/pseuds/HumiliatedRook</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Beth learns that she can need Benny, because he needs her too. </p><p>Alternatively: a post-Moscow reunion wherein Beth finds love.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Beth Harmon &amp; Benny Watts, Beth Harmon/Benny Watts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Nocturne [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017951</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>298</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Beth and Benny (The Queen's Gambit), Works I've Betaed and Hence Recommend (HumiliatedRook), bookmarks</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello good friends!</p><p>This work will get progressively smuttier and sexier, but I thought this was a good way to handle their reunion at first. Also - it can be read as a standalone, but I recommend reading the other works in the series first as it just all fits together so nicely. </p><p>Please enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Watching Beth think is kind of Benny’s favorite thing to do – or, at least, it’s up there in the top three.</p><p>He knows every pose, every gesture, every minute expression – unlike most everyone, when Beth is focusing deeply, her eyes don’t glaze over: she remains fully in control of her sense of sight. And in this exact moment, she’s captured his gaze while she considers how to begin. Benny isn’t going to prompt her; he didn’t say a single word when he swung open the door to find her standing outside his apartment.</p><p>Truth be told, he had suspected that she would come around for a while now. Call it a premonition, or intuition, or wishful thinking – whatever it is, she’s here, and he’s… happy? Annoyed? Betrayed? Frankly, it’s unclear. They’ve been playing their own game since the first day they met, and he’s known for a while that it’s her move.</p><p>“Maybe I should have called first,” Beth finally says after a good, solid minute. She looks a bit different; she looks like she’s grown, almost. There’s the smallest bit of assurance in her eyes, as she looks intently at him, that wasn’t there a few months ago. Her hair is longer too – it’s not as stiff as she used to keep it.</p><p>Benny doesn’t respond.</p><p>“I know we’re both going to be at that convention next week, but I wanted to see you here first,” she continues after a pause.</p><p>“Why?” It’s not defensive; he’s truly curious about her motives. Had the situation been reversed, it’s not what he would have done. </p><p>“To explain myself, I suppose,” Beth replies, shrugging.</p><p>“You couldn’t have done that in Miami?” Again, just curious.</p><p>“I didn’t want to do it in Miami,” she replies, a bit impishly. “I want to do it here.”</p><p>There’s another long moment of silence, and then Benny breaks the tension by smiling – just the slightest bit – and she smiles back, obviously relieved. He steps backwards into the apartment, holding the door open with an exaggerated flourish, waiting for her to walk inside.</p><p>“You got a sofa,” is the first thing she says while she makes her way to the center of the apartment, shedding her coat. She drapes it elegantly over the top of a kitchen chair.</p><p>“I did,” he confirms, watching her take in the familiar space. How many times had he imagined Beth here again? Hundreds, at least. He imagined kissing her, holding her, telling her off, rejecting her – every possible reaction to everything she’s said and done since she left. It’s bizarre, really, to have Beth Harmon in his apartment again because he has no idea what to do: he’s imagined this moment for so long that he can’t picture the outcome anymore.</p><p>“Why?” she probes, turning smoothly on her heel to look at him. It’s far too intense a gaze to accompany such a casual question. She’s stalling – and Benny is a bad, bad person for not throwing her a line.</p><p>“Do I need a reason?” he counters, leaning against the railing by the doorway, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “I wanted a couch; I bought a couch.”</p><p>“Would have been nice to sleep on that instead of the air mattress,” Beth mutters quietly – not quietly enough for Benny not to have heard, though.</p><p>“Like you spent many nights out here, anyways,” he replies with just a <em>hint </em>of snark.</p><p>She laughs at that, but it’s pretty forced. There’s a long moment while Benny watches her take in the room – she’s so observant and so methodical that there’s probably a file cabinet somewhere in her mind, and she’s comparing what she sees now to the contents of her own folder labeled <em>Benny’s Apartment. </em>He wonders what it looks like to see through her eyes.</p><p>Beth shudders, suddenly, and wiggles her whole body side-to-side a few times like she’s airing out a dirty rug. It’s definitely odd, and Benny has to stop himself from laughing awkwardly. “What, uh, what are you doing, there?”</p><p>“I promised myself, no games. No pretending, no pretenses. Here’s the truth, Benny. I’m going to be honest with you, and I understand if you still don’t want anything to do with me, but I just need to tell you. I just… need to tell you everything, okay?” Beth is pacing around the kitchen area, gesticulating while she speaks, and Benny feels a sudden chill come over him – he can recall asking Beth to do this very thing a few days before she left – she’s meeting him where he is, albeit a bit late.</p><p>It’s only proper that he let her know – he hasn’t given up, either.  </p><p>“Okay,” says Benny, pulling back one of the kitchen chairs, and flowing his arm up the side, indicating that the space is designated for her. “Come sit, then. Let’s talk.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Five cigarettes, when all was said and done. Five cigarettes smoked to completion while Beth sits across from Benny in his dingy apartment; five cigarettes while she tells him <em>everything.</em></p><p>She starts at the very beginning. Her mother (her first mother) was named Alice, and she was a genius. She’s the reason Beth has been bestowed both a terrible blessing and a beautiful curse. Alice was the first person who knew Beth, wholly and fully, and decided not to want her. And that, she now knows, was where everything began. Would Beth be same person she is today – one of the best chess players in the world – if her mother hadn’t ostensibly tried to murder her? She thinks not.</p><p>In the second chapter of Beth’s life, she learned that she couldn’t trust herself. She learned that there was an artificial way to feel good (better, at least) and she almost died trying to hold onto that feeling. More importantly – <em>most importantly – </em>she played chess. She wandered into the bowels of Methuen over and over just to watch the antediluvian janitor move molded plastic pieces around a black-and-white grid. It was the first thing Beth ever cared about. It’s… everything. Chess taught Beth how to interpret the world around her in terms that she actually understood, and that remains truthful to this day.</p><p>Methuen brought her two of the most important people: Mr. Shaibel, and Jolene. The former was her first teacher, and the latter was her first friend. Beth needs Benny to know about them. She needs him to understand. The only reason that Beth has the ability to feel attachment, affection, possibly even <em>love – </em></p><p>It’s been because of the people that have been good to her, even when she wasn’t good to them. Speaking of which: <em>Alma</em>.</p><p>Beth spends one-and-a-half cigarettes just talking about Alma. The first time she called her <em>mother</em>, the first time they embraced, the first time Alma watched her win. The unbelievable feeling of having someone take pride in you. Undeniably, inexplicably sweet and dear to her, this woman was. Her mother, in every sense of the word – this was the first person who took a chance on Beth and never took it back, despite hardships. It took some time and some patience, but eventually they learned how to fit their jagged edges together – two puzzle pieces that only made sense when joined.</p><p>She needs a moment, before she can go on. Beth isn’t really a crier; she doesn’t feel the need to shed any tears when thinking about the death of this mother. Despite what others may think, it’s not because she doesn’t feel anything - on the contrary, she feels probably <em>too much</em> – her emotions just get expressed in different ways than what people expect. Right now, for instance, Beth just needs to be <em>still</em> for a few minutes. Other than the quiet sounds of their breathing and the curling spiral of her cigarette smoke, she notices nothing, acknowledges nothing. She just feels, and feels, and feels.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Benny asks, quietly. It’s the first thing he’s said since they sat down at the table, for which Beth is grateful. She didn’t come here because she wants his pity, and she trusts him to know that.</p><p>“Yes,” she replies, and means it.</p><p>She tells him about her defeat at Borgov’s hand in Mexico City, and coming back to her hotel room to find what she found. She tells him about all the stupid practical details, like dealing with Mr. Wheatley and his house, like shipping Mrs. Wheatley back to Lexington in a box. She tells him about Harry’s uncanny timing, and that she knows she did a bad thing by letting him love her - just so she could feel wanted. She’s midway through her fourth cigarette by the time Benny interrupts her.</p><p>“Beth.”</p><p>She swings her gaze downwards from where it’s been resting on the ceiling to look at him. “Yes?”</p><p>“You don’t have to keep going, you know. If you don’t want to.”</p><p>“No,” she replies, looking deeply into his brown eyes. She has missed this – sitting across from each other at this particular table, a chess board the only thing separating them. “This is the most important part.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>There’s another minute before Beth speaks again. Benny will wait, patiently, as long as she needs. He’s not going to get his own feelings involved today – he doesn’t think it would be fair for Beth to carry his reaction to her story. At least, not right now. He’s just going to listen.</p><p>“I was fifteen. The first time I saw you, at the open in Ohio.”</p><p>Benny doesn’t remember this; they’ve established that before.</p><p>“I was, really, still a child. And I think the second time we met – in Vegas, a few years later – I felt like a child again, when you beat me.” She laughs. “I don’t like feeling helpless like that.</p><p>“I was convinced, too, that if I could just get this one man to think the world of me” – she brandishes her cigarette – “then maybe I would feel… better, you know? Like, a lot of my problems would go away if someone would just love me. And when I lost to you, I really thought <em>that</em> man would be so disgusted that he wouldn’t ever want me. I killed my own dream, even though it wasn’t a very good one. And I think I blamed you, in part.”</p><p>“Townes,” says Benny, understanding.</p><p>“Townes,” she confirms. “Do you know his first name, by the way? He won’t tell me.”</p><p>“I actually never thought to ask.”</p><p>“Well, anyway,” Beth shrugs, “you know he was in Moscow. We talked, for the first time. Kind of like this. And we came to an, uh, understanding.” She smiles at the ceiling. “It’s not like <em>that</em>, not anymore.”</p><p>Benny waits for her to elaborate. She doesn’t. Against his better judgement, his burning curiosity need to know.</p><p>“An understanding?”</p><p>Beth levels her smile at him, now. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Oh,” he says, stupidly.</p><p>“That brings me to the <em>other</em> time we met in Ohio. Last year, before I came here to live with you.”</p><p>Benny nods to show that he’s on the same page. “You beat me.”</p><p>“I did.” A big, toothy grin at the memory. “The first of many times.”</p><p>Her smile fades all too quickly. “I wasn’t in a good place, turns out. When you told me you could coach me? I was so thrilled that you finally noticed me – really. But also, I was furious with you for suggesting that I needed help with my game. No one was ever supposed to notice that I wasn’t perfect. You pointed out my flaws, and I told myself that it would never happen again, not with anyone.”</p><p>Beth bashes the end of her cigarette into the dirty saucer on the table. She lights up another with smooth, practiced hands.</p><p>“And then… you kept doing it. Again, and again. But the weird part -” she huffs a laugh “- was that you didn’t make it seem like there was something <em>wrong </em>with me for being flawed. It was a headfuck, completely. Take Harry, for example; that man wanted so badly to believe that I was perfect, and it felt good, it felt correct, to let him. But it could never last, because eventually he’d find something that would ruin the fantasy. That actually happened, I think, all the times he saw me drunk after Paris.”</p><p>Benny shifts uncomfortably. “Do you… want to talk about Paris?”</p><p>Beth looks at him. She shrugs. “Do you?”</p><p>“I’m not sure, actually.” The implication, of course, is that <em>Paris</em> as a subject is equivalent to <em>Cleo, </em>is equivalent to <em>relapse, </em>is equivalent to <em>you broke my heart</em>.</p><p>“How about this,” Beth says. “You can ask me anything, and I’ll tell you.”</p><p>Benny nods agreeably. “Sure.”</p><p>Beth leans back in her chair and opens her hands. “Hit me.”</p><p>It takes a minute for him to figure out where he wants to start. Benny feels a bit like he’s a talk show host and she’s the magnetic celebrity guest. That’s silly, of course, because he’s seen her on talk shows and she’s wasn’t anything like this – sitting casually in a beat-up folding chair, chainsmoking like a bandit, talking openly and easily about her sordid past. This is a side of Beth Harmon that very, very few people have seen before. He feels a little honored.</p><p>“Tell me… about the drinking.”</p><p>Beth snorts. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”</p><p>“The night before your final match. The Borgov match.”</p><p>She nods contemplatively. “Do you ever have a dream that’s really, really good?”</p><p>Benny frowns. “I guess so. Why?”</p><p>“In those dreams, everything that has been bothering you during your waking hours gets resolved. Like, a few nights ago, I dreamed that the girl who was mean to me in high school apologized, and that also I finally got my driver’s license, and” – the hint of a blush, now – “you started talking to me again. But, then: I woke up. And I was a little relieved, because I wouldn’t have known how to act if all those things actually happened.”</p><p>“I don’t think I follow.”</p><p>Beth inhales deeply through her cigarette. “That night, in Paris. Good things kept happening to me, and I got to a point where I just… cracked.”</p><p>
  <em>Beth gives up on love before it can give up on her. </em>
</p><p>He doesn’t need to ask about Cleo. He doesn’t really feel the need to ask <em>where have you been when I needed you? </em>It makes sense now. Benny is still hurt, sure, but he can’t feel the same betrayal and resentment anymore; he can’t feel like Beth was <em>trying</em> to hurt him when he knows the truth.</p><p>Benny rises from his seat. Without thinking (or breathing) he crosses over to Beth’s side of the table and kneels. Gingerly, slowly, cautiously, he places first his right, then his left hand at the base of her neck, looks her deeply in her eyes, and asks: “How about now? How do you feel now?”</p><p>“…Terrified,” she says honestly. Her pupils are vast; the hand holding her smoke is a little wobbly.</p><p>Benny lays his open mouth on top of hers: the lightest of kisses.</p><p>“And now?”</p><p>She watches him, her mouth gaping slightly. “Beth?” he prompts, a bit anxiously. “Was that not okay?”</p><p>“<em>Do it again</em>.” It’s a whisper, spoken so quietly that Benny almost didn’t hear. He complies, taking a little longer this time. She tastes like cigarettes. Her eyes are a little dazed when they part.</p><p>“I told you before. You don’t need to change for me, Beth,” he murmurs. “I meant it.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><em>Beautiful</em>. Benny Watts is <em>beautiful</em>. How did it take her this long to notice?</p><p>They’ve taken their time swapping light kisses in the kitchen – Beth finally slinking down off her chair to sit on the floor beside him – and she’s noticed, really for the first time, how undyingly striking this man is. His dirty-blonde, foppish hair; his boyish, cherubic face; his tall and proud stature: Beth is so attracted to him she forgets how to breathe for a minute.</p><p>She cares about Benny so much that it <em>hurts. </em></p><p><em>Most people</em> have been in love. How have <em>most people</em> dealt with this feeling? How does one get up for work on time, or operate heavy machinery, or remember their own name when they feel like this? How do people cope? Beth has spent her whole life running away from feelings like this and now that she doesn’t want to anymore, she has no idea how to survive. She’s going to turn into embers; scorched by the heat of her own emotion.</p><p>She can’t <em>not </em>say something; she can’t keep her tongue tied up in either her mouth or his, not after all this. But, really, Beth has no idea where to start, and ends up sputtering a little into the kiss with the force of her own confusion. Benny pulls back and looks at her with a crooked eyebrow and a half-smile. “Everything okay over there, Harmon?”</p><p>She can’t help but grin back, like a fool. “I’m just… overwhelmed, you know? It’s been a big day, all in all.”</p><p>He nods, assuring. “Don’t worry.” A smirk, now. “We’ll be taking it slow.”</p><p>Beth’s heart falters a little, as does her good mood. “I’m sorry?”</p><p>“Well, considering… our history, I suppose, I don’t think it would be the best idea to jump straight into being bedfellows again, yeah?” Benny picks up Beth’s limp hand and places a kiss on her palm. It’s a sweet gesture, but she’s still irritated. Beth doesn’t like being told what to do.</p><p>“I’m sorry?” she says, again. Beth snatches her hand back, just to punctuate her annoyance. She watches Benny’s face – his open, exposed expression shutters until he’s wearing the mask that he always hides behind. The guilt is instantaneous.</p><p>“In case it wasn’t obvious, <em>Beth</em>, I’ve no interest in having my heart broken again,” he says, his tone just south of neutral.</p><p>She pushes back from Benny, repulsed by herself and the reminder of her mistakes more than anything else. Her instinct is to leave, or to say something cutting in return: but Beth promised that she would play no more games, and she intends to keep that promise.</p><p>A split-second analysis occurs in her head: Benny has made it clear that he doesn’t like hurting her, ergo - he wouldn’t push her away unless it was for a greater purpose. That ‘greater purpose,’ in this case, must be self-preservation. Beth can respect that; Beth has done much worse things in the name of <em>self-preservation. </em>It would be unwise to try and challenge him on that. She forces herself to relax her posture a bit, and watches Benny mirror her.</p><p>“Okay,” she says after a minute. “I can see why you need to keep things slow. But, really Benny, if it helps – I think I like you. A lot, probably.”</p><p>Like the dawning of a sunrise, Benny’s face opens again – and he’s glowing, to match. The air in her lungs practically gets squeezed out with the force of his kiss: two smiles pressed together, lifting in sync.</p><p>“I like you too,” he whispers.</p><p>She’s still smiling when they part for the evening. Benny walks her up to the sidewalk and hails a cab. He kisses her one last time, before murmuring “<em>see you in Miami</em>” into her mouth. She giggles.</p><p>“<em>Until then, Benny Watts</em>.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Stay tuned for an update soon. Also, in case you missed it - I made a tumblr! Find me at dialectica-esoterica, or click <a href="https://dialectica-esoterica.tumblr.com/">here!</a> </p><p>As always, your feedback is life giving. I read all your comments and you are all terribly nice people!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello all, happy Monday! </p><p>This chapter is in some ways the Magnum Opus of the entire work - it's kind of a culmination of their emotions and a strong turning point for their relationship. </p><p>You may have noticed that the authorship has expanded! I had help from my good friend HumiliatedRook; putting together the chess elements was really all their doing since it's out of my wheelhouse. </p><p>Please enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Lord, tell me how to say no to this; I can’t say no to this</em>
</p><p>Someone has been scrubbing his exterior with steel wool. He’s <em> raw </em>: every desire, every impulse is brazenly bare.</p><p>
  <em> The swing of red hair; the strident edges of shoulder blades; the concerto of a pink tongue</em>
</p><p>Every now and then, they lock eyes. Of course, the only type of people who would come to this sort of event are the type of people who want to talk to her. She’s otherwise occupied.</p><p>The southern-Florida night air is positively <em> sweltering. </em>He’s going to choke. </p><p><em> Hooded eyes over a hooded smirk; the type of tease that’s meant to burn; a backless evening gown </em> </p><p>“Chess exhibition” is terribly redundant. Chess has always been meant as a spectacle. Chess is meant to be seen.</p><p>Chess players are performers. A veritable orgy of intellectualists; voyeurists abound tonight.  If the game of chess is a battle for power and control, every person in this ballroom is utterly depraved.</p><p>
  <em>Everything in life is about sex – except sex, which is about power.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They shake hands. He sits at the table across from her. She’s opening. </p><p>Everyone is watching.  </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Pawn to King 4.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Pawn to King 4. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em> Red lipstick, red lips, white teeth </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Knight to King’s Bishop 3.</p><p>(Beth’s face is impassive. Benny almost glances at her to raise an eyebrow.)</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Pawn to Queen 3.</p><p>(God gave him sight, just so the sight of Beth could wreck him now.)</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Pawn to Queen 4.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em> Piercing nails on soft skin </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Bishop, King’s Knight 4.</p><p>(His fingers twitch like an amateur’s. Only: his nerves aren’t frayed by fear.)</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Pawn takes pawn.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Bishop takes knight.</p><p>(Benny struggles to keep his eyes on the board.)</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> A meandering trajectory of exploration </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Queen takes Bishop.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Pawn takes pawn.</p><p>(He realizes how sharp his nails have become when he feels the hot sting of blood inside his curled fist.)</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Bishop to Queen’s Bishop 4.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em> A chorus of exultations, louder and louder </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
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</p><p>Knight to King’s Bishop 3.</p><p>(Sparks threatens to incinerate all of Miami.)</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Queen to Knight 3.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Queen to King 2.</p><p>(Ignition is imminent.)</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em> Lips dancing across ambient skin </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Knight to Bishop 3.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Pawn to Queen’s Bishop 3.</p><p>(Benny imagines his fingers are ablaze as they sweep over the board.)</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Bishop to King’s Knight 5.</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <em> One long line drawn by a sharp fingernail </em>
</p><p>
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</p><p>Pawn to Queen’s Knight 4.</p><p>(Theophany.)</p><p>
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</p><p>Knight takes.</p><p>(Of course, Beth jumps into battle. She doesn’t retreat.)</p><p>
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</p><p>Pawn takes knight.</p><p>(Drops of red. Flashes of silver. Scorched earth tactics.)</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <em> Charitable touch meets desperate landscapes </em>
</p><p>
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</p><p>Bishop takes pawn. Check.</p><p>(Beth’s eyes belie the same electricity currently frying him to his fingertips.)</p><p>
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</p><p>Knight to Queen 2.</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p>Queenside castle.</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <em> Rasping gasping; lurid hands; generous mouths </em>
</p><p>
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</p><p>Rook to Queen 1.</p><p>(Chess. Sex. Fire. What’s the difference?  He can practically taste the smoke.)</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p>Rook takes knight.</p><p>(He knows <em> she </em> knows when he looks up. And vice versa.)</p><p>(Vices, indeed.)</p><p>
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</p><p>Rook takes rook.</p><p>(The exchanges are intuitive. His fingers move of their own accord.)</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <em> A singular silhouette cast by two people </em>
</p><p>
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</p><p>Rook to Queen 1.</p><p>
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</p><p>Queen to King 3.</p><p>(If their eyes dare meet, the conflagration may engulf them both.)</p><p>
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</p><p>Bishop takes rook. Check.</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <em> Delicate moments corroding, one after another </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
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</p><p>Queen takes the bishop.  </p><p>(He could’ve used the knight, but his fingers subconsciously drift toward the piece he - and the press - inextricably associate with his opponent.)</p><p>
  <br/>
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</p><p>Queen to Queen’s Knight 8. Check.</p><p>(No hesitation. Her eyes barely graze the board.)</p><p>
  <br/>
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</p><p>Queen intercepts, moving to Queen 1.  </p><p>(Benny’s strength is often his endgames with knights, but he’s chosen his path.) </p><p>
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</p><p>
  <em> Closer, closer -  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Rook to Queen 8.  Check again.</p><p>(Benny can see it coming.)</p><p> </p><p>King flees to King 2.  </p><p>(It’s a queen’s game.  It always has been.  Benny never stood a chance.)</p><p> </p><p>Queen to Queen 6.  Mate in eighteen moves.</p><p>(King on the king’s file, right where he started. Queen on the queen’s file, one square away from the conquered. Close enough to touch.) </p><p>(His king falls. Benny lifts his head to meet Beth’s gaze and extends his hand.)</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> She’ll never be close enough. </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Benny watches the decorative vase fall out of  the corner of his eye - Beth has him slammed up against the console table just inside her hotel room, and her hands are <em> everywhere. </em>They both jump as it hits the floor, but fortunately, it doesn’t shatter. The faux flowers scatter across the carpet like a Rorschach inkblot. </p><p>“You are out of your fucking mind,” Beth is telling him, but her expression is practically giddy, so he knows not to be offended.</p><p>“Me? What did I do?” Benny reaches for her face so he can kiss her deeply, practically giddy himself that he’s allowed to do this again. </p><p>Beth pulls back after a moment. “The Opera Game! You played the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Opera_Game"> Opera Game! </a> What could you <em> possibly </em> have been thinking, Benny?”</p><p>Benny uses the opportunity to inhale the stale hotel room air. He can barely think straight, but still - he knows this argument. They’ve already had it, in so many other words. "I moved my queen. You didn't sacrifice!" </p><p>He files this defense away for the inevitable future dispute they’ll have with the USCF. The game hadn’t been as melodramatic as Morphy’s, but Benny can’t deny the battle had been far too short. He will also <em> generously </em> acquiesce that any spectators worth their salt would have recognized their dance by the twelfth move. He adds - mostly for posterity’s sake - “It wasn’t the <em> exact </em> game by the end, anyways.”</p><p>"It might as well have been!" Despite her protestations, Beth’s eyes are laughing; exhilarated.</p><p>“You were the one who opened with the Philidor!” he responds indignantly. “You <em> always </em>play the Sicilian; I was caught off guard!”  </p><p>“This is not on me!” Beth surges forward again for another heated kiss. “We just got paid <em> thousands </em>of dollars to play the fucking Opera Game in front of the entire federation…” She dissolves into giggles. “We’re going to be in so much trouble, wow.” </p><p>Benny can’t help but join her in laughter. For a moment, they just snicker into each others’ mouths. He feels a little punch-drunk: the chess exhibition he and Beth - the Federation’s best players, by far - were just paid <em> handsomely </em> to participate in, turned into a near-mockery by their antics. The game was over in minutes, and they managed to escape the banquet immediately with nary a snide remark - mostly because the event organizers were too stunned to intervene. </p><p>Beth steps out of his embrace, winding her arms around her back to pull open her dress with an delightfully obscene <em> zip. </em> She lets the expensive-looking gown accumulate in folds around her until she stands in total <em> dishabille</em>, looking at Benny with a gaze that demands to know <em> what are you going to do about it?  </em></p><p>And what can he do, besides follow suit?  </p><p>Helpless - he will always be helpless to that look in her eyes, and he has no reason to resist anymore. Their last interaction in New York (the one that Benny has taken to calling the Five Cigarette Talk in his mind) has left him with no doubt that Beth wants him every bit as much as he wants her. She may not always be as equipped to communicate as she was that day - but it’s clear that she’s going to keep trying, as long as Benny asks her to. </p><p>Wordlessly, he asks her now: he mouths <em>stay with me </em>into the space below her right ear; presses <em>I’ve missed you </em>with his fingertips onto her hips; sears <em>I’ve forgotten how to want unless it’s you </em>into her thighs with his nails. Every noise, every touch, every look that she reciprocates: she’s whispering <em>yes, yes, yes</em>, as clearly as though she’s said it out loud.  </p><p>They’ve migrated to the bed, and Benny luxuriates in the way that Beth has wrapped herself around him: clinging, with no pretense of independence. His erection - insistent on not being ignored - is trapped between their naked bodies, and Benny would certainly be able to get off like this, with the glossy slide of his own precum rendering the feel of Beth’s warm skin all the more heavenly. But: Benny knows Beth, and knows that <em> she </em> knows how hot he’s been all night, courtesy of her relentless teasing. He won’t be getting off that easily (no pun intended). </p><p>
  <em> Scorched earth tactics, indeed.  </em>
</p><p>Benny pulls back just to look at her squarely in the face. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”</p><p>“Which part?” A smugger expression there never has been. He’ll let it slide. </p><p>Beth kisses him like her life depends on it. Truly, the intensity of her kisses has only increased during the time they’ve spent apart, and Benny will revel in it for as long as he’s allowed. It doesn’t matter that they’re naked - he could spend hours just kissing her senseless and then be shown the door, sans orgasm, and still be satisfied. </p><p>She works her hand between their bodies to grasp at his hard length, and <em> oh </em>but the feel of her long fingers is otherworldly. He moans into Beth’s mouth unintentionally, and she chuckles in return. “That good, huh?”</p><p>“It’s been… a while,” he admits, not expecting the look of surprise overtaking Beth’s face. </p><p>“What do you mean, ‘a while’?”</p><p>He may as well say it plainly. “I haven’t been with anyone, since you.”</p><p>Her hand freezes, and Benny has to consciously stop himself from grinding up into her fist. </p><p>“Why on earth not?” He <em> definitely </em>wasn’t expecting her to be shocked about this. He hasn’t slept  with anyone in a few months; so fucking what? He’s been busy.</p><p>“I didn’t want to?” Benny didn’t mean it to come out as a question, so it’s pretty clear that he’s lost all control of the situation. Beth sits up, forcing him to scoot backwards off her torso. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“No one?” she repeats, clearly stunned. “You’ve been with no one?” </p><p>“Yes, but why does it matter?” He’s growing a bit exasperated now; he’s never had to have a conversation like this before. There are a lot of <em> firsts </em> with regards to Beth, and frankly, not all of them are entirely pleasant. (The <em> firsts </em>that are pleasant, though…)</p><p>Beth is frozen; her expression entirely blank. It’s a stark contrast to the succubus role she’s been playing all night, and Benny is <em> bewildered.  </em></p><p>“Why does it matter?” he asks again, not daring to touch her. After a minute of silence, he chances a tentative “Beth?”</p><p>“It matters,” she says finally, her voice quiet, “because you weren’t supposed to care enough to wait.” </p><p>And how can his heart not break, just a little, at that? He reaches out, seeking her hand, and to his relief, she grasps his just as tightly. </p><p>Beth benevolently lets her hand be held for while - longer than Benny was expecting, really - before slowly unfurling her fingers and wiggling away. “I’m sorry, I know we were in the middle of something,” she says, rubbing her eyes. </p><p>“No, really, Beth, we don’t have to -”</p><p>“Yes.” She glares at Benny fiercely. <em> She’s back, </em>he thinks. </p><p>Still, Benny is nothing if not well-mannered. “Just, I don’t want you to feel rushed, or anything.”</p><p>“Benny.” Her face bears the same expression as when she played the Philidor earlier - all gas, no brakes. <em> Elizabeth Harmon, ladies and gentlemen. </em>“I’ve been waiting for this. And if you have no objections, I don’t want to wait any longer.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Benny feels truly sorry for people who are chasing bliss through something as ineffectual as heroin. Those people have clearly never made love to Beth Harmon. With the amount of times that he’s daydreamed about this, reality has bled into fantasy, making each moment more and more incomparable to the next. He needn’t have worried - Beth wants this just as badly as he does. </p><p><em> This </em>being the slide of his cock shallowly inside her, over and over - he’s standing pressed against the edge of the bed between her spread legs, gently thrusting into Beth’s supine body. She’s so gloriously beautiful that his eyes are burning. “I missed you,” he can’t help but say, and it’s worth it to see the smile spread across her face. </p><p>She opens her arms to him, and, drawn as if by magnets, Benny falls into her embrace, cradling her head between his hands. “I missed you, too,” she whispers into his ear, and he is <em> so </em> far gone for this woman. He forgets to count the precious moments; time has lost its meaning in the presence of their coupling. Has he had her for mere minutes, or hours now? It’ll never be long enough.</p><p>“You’re so beautiful,” he tells Beth, meaning it more than he’s ever meant anything in his life. Benny hitches his right knee up onto the bed, intending to find a deeper angle. He knows he’s found it when her wide eyes fall shut, deeply focused on the sensation of their connection. </p><p>“Yes, just like that,” she gasps, and Benny knows her so well; knows she’s close. He lets his hands fall down her chest, cupping her soft breasts so that he can roll her nipples between his fingers. She whimpers, overwhelmed, and Benny hides his grin in her neck - pleased beyond words that he’s still able to render Beth into this mewling, sensitive creature after all this time. </p><p>“Benny - Benny, please.” </p><p>“Together, okay?” he whispers into her open mouth, to which she nods frantically, and it only takes a few more thrusts before Benny is seeing stars. </p><p>It was worth the wait, he thinks hazily. <em> She </em>was worth the wait. </p><p>Benny pulls away when he comes back to himself, lying down beside Beth instead of on top of her. Beth is often quite distant post-coitus - probably in an effort to regain some of the control she thinks was surrendered during the act itself. Benny works to conceal the slight disappointment that he feels now, upon realizing that their (relatively) tender lovemaking hadn’t assuaged that impulse for her - if anything, it seems worse tonight. She’s intentionally left a wide strip of empty space between their bodies, turning away to face the wall on her side, her hand tucked up underneath her head. </p><p>He tries for an easy opening - something as dry and inconsequential as possible. “I wonder when we’ll hear from the Fed officials about our quasi Opera Game.” Benny’s tone is light, easy. Relaxed. </p><p>Beth doesn’t budge; doesn’t respond beyond a quiet hum in response. </p><p>He waits for a few long moments, then tries again. “When’s your next exhibition match?” </p><p>“Tomorrow night.” Maybe she’s just tired? Benny rolls off the bed to flick on the light switch, then hurriedly pulls the curtain shut - he’s still nude, after all. Beth doesn’t flinch.</p><p>Her silence weighs entirely too heavily on his chest. He’ll try one more time. </p><p>Benny crosses over to her side of the bed, kneeling down so that their faces are level. Her eyes are wide open - she’s staring blankly ahead, which is a decidedly un-Beth expression. </p><p>“Hey.” </p><p>No response. </p><p>“Do you want me to go?” </p><p>She shakes her head no, but that’s all he gets. Unsure about what to do with himself, Benny retreats to the bathroom. He’ll shower and regroup - maybe by then she’ll have bounced back?</p><p>He takes his time figuring out the fancy shower controls, a bit disgruntled to find that Beth has been assigned a superior hotel room - this shower is <em> massive </em>compared to his. Glass and square, it looks almost like a block of ice, with brass hinges floating the transparent door outwards. </p><p>As soon as it’s warm enough, Benny moves to stand under the spray, letting the water soak his hair and skin entirely. It’s quite pleasant. He is in no rush, washing away the inescapable Floridian residue left after a full day of activity, taking advantage of the mild soap that Beth brings everywhere. He’s used it before, back when they shared a shower; he knows she won’t mind. </p><p>Benny is quite startled when he feels a hand, squarely placed in the small of his back. He hadn’t heard her come in.</p><p>“I’m sorry.” It’s quiet; entirely small in that her voice takes up almost no room in the cavernous shower. He doesn’t turn around, directed by a hunch that tells him not to make eye contact, not yet. </p><p>“It’s okay,” Benny replies, stepping out from under the nozzle so Beth can rinse off. She doesn’t move, though. </p><p>“I’m still sorry,” she says.</p><p>Benny is going to do what he’s been waiting <em> months </em>to do - he’s going to hold her, dammit. He moves as slowly as he can manage, his gangly limbs tucking themselves securely around her willowy frame. It takes a few minutes, but slowly Beth relaxes into his embrace, and Benny breathes a sigh of relief. The rhythmic beating of warm water envelops them both.</p><p>She’s trying, and that’s all he’s asking for. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>HumiliatedRook, gently and lovingly telling me to slow down the progression of their relationship given their stubborn natures</p><p><a href="https://media.giphy.com/media/vJuQAOM5EKGNa/giphy.gif">me,</a> wanting them to be happy NOW</p><p>Come find me on <a href="https://dialectica-esoterica.tumblr.com/">tumblr!</a></p><p>ETA 1/31: my co-author suggested including the notation for Beth &amp; Benny's opera game, for those who want to try it for themselves! PGN: 1. e4 e5 2. Nf3 d6 3. d4 Bg4 4. dxe5 Bxf3 5. Qxf3 dxe5 6. Bc4 Nf6 7. Qb3 Qe7 8. Nc3 c6 9. Bg5 b5 10. Nxb5 cxb5 11. Bxb5+ Nbd7 12. O-O-O Rd8 13. Rxd7 Rxd7 14. Rd1 Qe6 15. Bxd7+ Qxd7 16. Qb8+ Qd8 17. Rxd8+ Ke7 18. Qd6#</p><p>Next chapter is well underway and will probably go up within a week.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for your patience with me! This is a looooong one.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The pale morning light, streaming in through a slit in the curtains, illuminates Benny’s sleeping face in a way that feels…different, somehow. Like Beth is seeing him with new eyes. Things are always a little different, the morning after. </p><p>Truth be told, she hadn’t foreseen any of last night’s events. When she received the exhibition assignments upon arrival, Beth had been shamefully caught off-guard to see <em> Harmon v. Watts </em> scheduled for the Saturday night match. She should have expected this; she should have expected that they’d both be thrown into the spotlight for all to see. Everyone who’s anyone in the chess world knows about their professional partnership at this point, and she’s begun to suspect that some know about their <em> unprofessional </em> partnership, too. </p><p>While the other members of the Miami Chess Club enjoy what is no doubt a lovely continental breakfast, Benny and a hungry Beth are summoned to an empty meeting room, presumably to be questioned about their very familiar match last night. Walking through an archway supported by Ionic columns, Beth is struck by the odd thought that she’s stepped into a fish bowl. The blue-tinged gray walls and flounder motifs in the lamps are terribly Floridian in a way that tourists likely find charming.</p><p>A spectator would probably call them friends. Friends who occasionally catch each other's eyes with the ghost of a moment shared, and sometimes - only sometimes - brush together in a fashion that underscores a deeper familiarity.  </p><p>That’s friendship, right? </p><p>Melanie Evans, who is seated at one of the vacant tables, had been Beth’s main point of contact when planning to participate in the Miami International Chess Festival. She looks up and smiles at them through her cat-eye spectacles. A small, unbidden knot dissolves in Beth’s stomach: Ms. Evans doesn’t appear to be in a yelling mood. Beth hadn’t expected an overly stern rebuke, but she’s relieved nonetheless.  </p><p>Benny speaks first. “Good morning, Ms. Evans.” He’s slyly grinning, all easy charm and contagious confidence. Beth keeps her arms crossed over her chest, nodding as she echoes Benny - she doesn’t have his effortlessly cool demeanor.</p><p>“Good morning, Mr. Watts, Ms. Harmon. Your game last night created quite a stir.” In front of her on the table sits a half-eaten danish and a mostly empty cup of coffee. </p><p>Beneath his wide-brimmed hat, Benny smirks. “Hopefully we did Morphy proud.”</p><p>“It won’t become a habit,” Beth is quick to add, flooded with annoyance at Benny’s arrogance. Melanie smiles placidly at Beth’s attempt to precede the inevitable interrogation.</p><p>Geoffrey Kossak, the festival’s USCF coordinator, also steps into the room and offers his greeting before all present parties have a seat at the square table. In all honesty, Beth is much more worried about this man’s response to her shenanigans last night - she is genuinely trying to redeem herself in the eyes of the federation, as much as possible. She has big plans for her future in chess, and the Almost Opera Game could have been a major slip-up. Kossak’s face is stony; impassive. Beth cringes internally. </p><p>They begin with small talk about the chess community in Miami, and the events the Club has planned for the rest of the Festival. Another exhibition for both Beth and Benny, some lectures for the chess history enthusiasts and the more casual players. Both officials are openly grateful about their attendance; it’s quite flattering, ultimately. </p><p>Finally, the moment that Beth has been dreading: Kossak inquires about their very own Morphy Match last night. Before Beth has an opportunity to explain herself - through really, what can she say? - Benny intervenes.</p><p>“Nearly identical matches at our rating are semi-frequent flukes,” he says easily.  “<a href="https://www.chessgames.com/perl/chessgame?gid=1224863">Estrin-Berliner</a> and <a href="https://www.chessgames.com/perl/chessgame?gid=1225038">Lopukin-Semeniuk Cheliabinsk</a>, 1945, had a whopping <em> twenty-eight </em> identical moves. Fritz Variation of the Two Knights Defense.”</p><p>Beth joins Kossak and Evans in staring at Benny, though there’s more exasperation in her gaze than the admiration in theirs. If this is anything like the lectures Beth used to get in Benny’s kitchen, she’ll be tuning it out, thanks very much.</p><p>“Also, Gothenburg Interzonal in Sweden, 1955. <a href="https://www.chess.com/article/view/the-amazing-argentinian-chess-tragedy"> Geller vs. Panno, Keres vs. Najdorf, Spassky vs. Pilnik. </a> Three Russians on white, three Argentines on black. <em> Brutal</em>. The Argentines played the Najdorf Variation, but instead of the Russians playing the popular response, queen to KB3, they played pawn to KB4. White presses black into the center and then sends a storm of pawns on the kingside . First thirteen moves, <em> completely </em> identical. Black loses all three matches. The Argentinian Tragedy.”</p><p>Benny neglects to mention the games had been played simultaneously, and Spassky and Keres had copied Geller’s board. Thankfully, Kossak neglects to remember. Let no one say that Beth doesn’t know her own game.</p><p>“And let’s not ignore those nine-move draws. <a href="https://ratings.fide.com/pgn_chess_game.phtml?code1=4109821&amp;code2=4139020&amp;code3=4&amp;code4=45189&amp;pgn_game=%22Gansvind__Valeriya_I__VS_Pisakov__Ilia%22"> Gansvind vs Pisakov</a>, Moscow Dvorkovich Memorial, 1909. Queen's Gambit Declined, Semi-Slav, Chigoren Defense. Repeated at the British Championship by <a href="https://www.chessgames.com/perl/chessgame?gid=1587733"> Rudd vs. Gormally</a>, in 1910. And then later that year at the Swiss Championship Title Tournament in 1910, <a href="https://ratings.fide.com/pgn_chess_game.phtml?code1=1304232&amp;code2=1308173&amp;code3=9&amp;code4=51902&amp;pgn_game=%22Jenni__Florian_VS_Kurmann__Oliver%22"> Flenni vs. Kurmann</a>. Many other such instances; shall I continue?”</p><p>Beth blinks several times to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Fortunately, she is saved from saying something she might regret by Kossak. “No, thank you, Mr. Watts, that’s not necessary. Just keep in mind, our members want to see your best work, yes? From both of you.”</p><p>Beth nods as solemnly as she can manage, equal parts relieved and hungry. Mr. Kossak stands up - it’s clear the meeting is adjourned. Handshakes are exchanged, and Beth moves to follow the others out of the room (preferably in pursuit of breakfast; is it too late?) when someone lays a hand on her wrist. She doesn’t startle, assuming that it must be Benny: but is surprised to turn and see Ms. Evans instead. </p><p>“Uh?” is all she can manage - Beth isn’t great with physical contact from strangers. From her peripheral vision she sees that Benny has paused in the doorway, watching her with typical intensity. </p><p>“You two…” Ms. Evans smiles warmly, looking between Beth and her former coach. She waits for the event coordinator to continue speaking, but Melanie just shakes her head after a moment and releases Beth’s wrist. </p><p>“Enjoy the rest of the festival, okay?” Beth watches, thoroughly confused, as Ms. Evans collects her things and scurries out. </p><p>“What do you think that was about?” asks Benny from across the room, where he’s leaning fluidly against the wall, his eyebrows furrowed. It’s all Beth can do to shake her head.</p><p>“No idea. Are you hungry?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>A mere seven paces away from her, Benny is charming a group of spectators with cigars and briefcases. He sits on a wide leather couch in the lobby. Benny whips through the Tarkatower Variation, played by Timman versus Bouwmeester. Bouwmeester had resigned in a mere nine moves after losing his queen. Beth stands by the wall, somewhat amused at his arrogance but entranced by his command of a room nonetheless. </p><p>An older man holding a highball glass and sporting a pompadour approaches Beth. “Ms. Harmon?”  </p><p>She turns to him, abruptly detached from Benny Watts’ grand orations. He opens his mouth to speak quickly: “I just wanted to say hello; I’m William. We met a long time ago, in Cincinnati, I think back in sixty-three. It was the very beginning of your career?”</p><p>Beth nods, distantly recalling Alma’s <em> this will do nicely</em>; brunch with Matt and Mike; walking arm-in-arm with her mother through the hotel. The pang in her heart at the sight of a blond man through stairway balusters.</p><p>This new man juts his chin toward Benny. “I felt so lucky I could squeeze myself into a chair to listen to him. But I also get to tell people I got to meet Beth Harmon before everyone knew her name. And goodness, I get to meet you both twice?” </p><p>The man chuckles, shaking his head, one arm stoutly crossed on his chest. Beth roams her eyes around the room, not quite sure how to reply. Before the silence between them can become awkward, she settles on the most basic response possible. “What brings you to Miami?”</p><p>William smiles. “I’m a physician. Trained in Ohio; we live here in Florida now. Chess is my second love. Well, third, after medicine and Aileen.” He raises his glass as if to toast, but really he’s flashing a golden wedding band on his finger. The ice in his glass rattles.</p><p>Beth smiles back tentatively, feeling stiff. She hadn’t realized how rigid her body had become against the wall. “How long have you been together?”</p><p>He brightens visibly. “Six years! One officially.” William hurries to pull a photo from his pocket.</p><p>Beth blinks, halfway confused. Most married couples she’s met seem to deflate when pressed about their relationships. She remembers how Margaret Neil (Johnson)’s smile hadn’t quite reached her eyes; <em> Mike and I tied the knot right after graduation</em>; the bottles of liquor under the cooing baby. Beth turns her head to admire the beautiful couple in the photograph, so clearly smitten in their wedding regalia. “Is she here today?”</p><p>William’s grin fades but a hair. “No, unfortunately, she couldn’t get off work. She’s an attorney.” </p><p>In this moment, Beth realizes the difference between ‘braggadocious’ and ‘blissfully proud.’ William is the latter, positively glowing with adoration. She shifts her posture, grateful for a more familiar topic than <em> marriage</em>. “My friend back home is finishing law school. She’s studying a lot for the bar, I think.”</p><p>William laughs. “I remember those days. Say, you didn’t happen to take any photos of your trip to Moscow, did you? I’ve always wanted to see Saint Basil’s in person, but the idea of traveling to Russia is a bit intimidating, to say the least.” </p><p>Beth is moderately caught off-guard. Most conversations she has with strangers are very short -  only taking as long as necessary for her to gather information, or for the other person to realize she has no interest in whatever they have to offer: sex, wealth, power. She doesn’t really know how to make small talk - but maybe she could try to make more friends at these events, so long as everyone is as open as this man.</p><p>“I, um, don’t have a camera. Plus I didn’t even get to see it myself.” She rolls her eyes a little at the memory of the distinctly Russian security team: entirely too thrilled to be bossing her around. “The KGB wouldn’t dare let me out of their sight.” </p><p>William smiles at her, a little sympathetically, and she breaks eye contact, automatically finding Benny’s gaze instead. Beth traces the button on her sleeve with her pinky finger compulsively, letting his stare burn into hers from his place on the couch. A man in a fitted navy suit leans close to Benny to ask him a question, or maybe to pay him a compliment, and Beth tears her eyes away.</p><p>“Well,” says William slowly, “if you are in the market for a camera, I recommend the Polaroid Swinger. Aileen and I were gifted one for Christmas, and we love ours.”</p><p>Beth lets her hip rest on the stone column, keeping her arms loosely crossed. “What do you take pictures of?”</p><p>He laughs. “Everything! Lots of really simple things, like the Thanksgiving table before eating, or Aileen in a new dress. I just have this feeling we’ll appreciate the photos when we get older.”</p><p>She remembers a conversation from another life: a mattress in a bubble in New York, her and Benny, clothes forgotten; Beth, uncharacteristically vulnerable, admitting that she leaves too much rubble in her wake. </p><p>Memories surface, or at least their emotional associations do. Drying off after a late-night swim with the twins; listening to a decidedly tone-deaf Harry plunk random keys on Grandma June’s piano; unwinding with Jolene on the couch, watching sitcoms amidst a tidied living room; Benny lost in his favorite vinyls during study breaks. Moments that aren't momentous, like winning Moscow, but still - memories that Beth treasures jealously. Like they could dissipate into smoke if she forgets to remember them. </p><p>Beth realizes that Benny is surreptitiously watching her; passing off sharper glances as inconspicuous scans of the room. William’s wedding ring must not be visible from the couch. Shutting down the temptation to grin, she angles her body away from Benny and his congregation.</p><p>William takes a step forward and leans down, just a tad, so that their faces are closer - designating to outsiders that they’re having a private conversation. There’s an obvious tension hanging between her and this man now, though it’s not the type of tension Beth feels when she’s with Benny. It’s more of a heavy sensation; a gut instinct that tells her he’s about to say something important, something <em>big</em>, and that she should listen carefully. </p><p>“I never, in my life, expected Benny freakin’ Watts to look at another person the way he looks at you,” says William, his voice casual and hurried and hushed like he has been <em> dying </em> to speak candidly this whole time, and Beth fights a shiver. “I don’t think any of us, the chess amateurs and enthusiasts, expected to see <em> Benny Watts” </em>- William says his name emphatically, reverently - “fall in love.” </p><p>By the time Beth can move and breathe and think again, it’s been far longer than is socially acceptable to wait before speaking. Frankly, she’s having trouble feeling her limbs, having been soaked through to her very core with shock and disbelief and an overwhelming sense of surrealism that runs hot and cold simultaneously. Fortunately, her conversation partner has waited with almost unreasonable patience and an expression of moderate concern. </p><p>“Don’t tell me no one else has said anything?” he asks, all creased brows and half-cleared throats. It’s all Beth can do to put together a sentence in response, and not a very articulate one at that. </p><p>“We haven’t… I mean, we didn’t discuss… There’s nothing official. Nothing is official.” It’s Beth’s turn to clear her throat, feeling her posture shrink a little at the weight of these revelations. She crosses her right ankle behind her left to balance a little precariously on her Mary Janes, rocking slowly back and forth on the ball of her grounded foot.</p><p>William’s mouth forms a small <em> oh </em>of understanding before he takes a long drink from the glass in his hands. It’s a thick kind of crystal, with a pattern of lumps and ridges etched below the rim, and contains probably more ice than actual liquid, though the heat has caused significant condensation to drip down the sides. “I hope you don’t think I’m -” he takes another drink, searching for the right word “- hunting, as it were, for a story or anything.”</p><p>Beth tries to smile gracefully, because really, it’s very obvious that this gentle chess fan means her no harm, and is relieved when he smiles back immediately. She’s thinking about how best to respond when from behind them comes “Ready to go, Beth?” </p><p>His travel chess bag slung over his shoulder, Benny Watts looks every bit the careful, intimidating chess god that he did on that fateful day in Ohio so many years ago. For the second time in so many minutes, Beth fights a shiver - the look in his eyes as he studies William makes her feel… something. Like she wants Benny to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her close.  </p><p>Like she wants him to stake his claim. </p><p>“We’ve been asked to speak at that panel, remember?” Benny says, turning his gaze towards her now, like she could possibly forget about any time that they’re supposed to spend together. Without any forethought, Beth reaches out to smooth the rumpled collar of his black cotton shirt, allowing herself a solid moment to run her palm across the expanse of Benny’s clavicle. Beth pulls her hand away; she sees Benny swallow thickly. </p><p>“Of course.” Turning to William now, she asks, “Will we see you there?” </p><p>“The Sicilian panel? Wouldn’t miss it,” he responds, smiling cheerfully. “It’s been a pleasure. Oh, wait -” In a truly impressive one-handed maneuver, William reaches into his pocket, presumably into his wallet, and pulls out a business card, turning it over to Beth face-up in between his pointer and middle fingers. “If you’re in Miami again, my wife and I would be thrilled to show you around. Both of you,” he says, pointedly looking between Benny and Beth. </p><p>“Thanks,” says Beth, pulling the card close to read, “Doctor Richards. Give our best to Aileen.”</p><p>“Will do,” he responds, his eyes sparkling, his smile wide. “Ms. Harmon, Mr. Watts.” Perhaps William can read her body language, or perhaps her reputation precedes her - either way, he doesn’t attempt to shake her hand. He just nods graciously at Beth and Benny before walking away with an easy, slow gait, leaving Beth a little flustered to be alone with her former coach. </p><p>“Who was that?” he asks, after a moment of nothing. He moves a half step closer to Beth, and though she is turned slightly away she can feel the breeze of his exhalation across her face. The echoes of tobacco and toothpaste wash over her: familiar, lovely. She wants to wrap herself in this scent, and very nearly does, before realizing that Benny’s swarm of admirers is watching raptly and she remembers what she said moments ago. <em> Nothing’s official.  </em></p><p>“A fan,” she responds lightly. “He was very nice. I liked him.” </p><p>“Oh,” says Benny. A pause, and then: “Was he flirting with you?” </p><p>Beth quirks an eyebrow at him, not entirely surprised (and truly, the slightest bit pleased) at the unmasked jealousy in his voice. “No. Very happily married, actually.” </p><p>“Like that’s ever stopped anyone,” he grumbles, and Beth smiles, placatingly. She turns towards him, stepping closer, and - entirely mindful of their onlookers - leans in, placing her mouth an inch away from his ear without actually touching him at all. </p><p>“You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Watts,” Beth whispers, before turning and sauntering towards the elevator bank. And if she lets her hips sway just a touch more than usual, who can blame her? She has an audience. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>If there’s one thing that never ceases to surprise Beth, it’s how generous Benny is in bed. </p><p>Before they slept together, it never really occurred to her that sex could be so… involved. That one’s partner could be able to derive pleasure from <em> giving </em>pleasure, and vice versa. Before Benny, Beth assumed that sex would always be distinctly static - she would be required for her presence alone, unable to reap any of the rewards that her body provided for others. </p><p>She has since been proven wrong by this man. Multiple times, consecutively, in fact. </p><p>“Oh my <em> god</em>,” she mumbles into the pillow, and from behind her Beth can feel Benny smirk into her pussy. Several panels and exhibitions and lectures later, the festival had concluded with a rather ceremonial gala-style dinner, and unlike last night they hadn’t been able to abscond together before anyone registered their disappearance. No, tonight Beth had been forced to socialize endlessly with smarmy federation board members and wealthy Miami chess club patrons, all with varying levels of inebriation, all attempting to pay tribute to her in a way that felt mostly disingenuous. </p><p>He licks wetly from top to tail of her sex, and she moans again, shockingly unashamed. Despite her varied sexual history, Beth has never been entirely comfortable on the receiving end of oral stimulation - until this, until Benny. She has a hard time imagining anyone else being allowed to touch her this way; make her feel these things. <em> That’s </em> an idea, huh? </p><p>“Are you going back to Kentucky tomorrow?” he rasps, pausing only to speak before continuing with his diligent work. Beth has her naked ass in the air, lying facedown on the expansive hotel bed with Benny’s arms wrapped around either thigh. She shudders, overwhelmed; her mind conjuring Melanie Evans’ eyes darting between them after a mere fifteen minutes in their company; William’s <em> I never expected Benny freakin’ Watts to look at another person the way he looks at you. </em></p><p>Benny’s tongue drives her higher and higher, his question unanswered - though he doesn’t seem to have expected a response. Benny eats her out like he’s been waiting all day to do so, and she lets him; she trusts him to give her what she needs. It’s an intoxicating thought, one that sends her hurtling towards orgasm at breakneck speed. </p><p>Beth’s fingers scramble for purchase amid the myriad of throw pillows, desperate to find something to hold onto; to ground herself in this moment where all her attention is centered on the sensations provided by this generous, generous man. When her climax hits, abruptly, she almost forgets how to breathe for a moment. But she remembers, and breathes heavily along with Benny, the explosion from her orgasm ebbing and flowing gradually. His grip around her legs loosens slightly, and she sags down onto the bedspread, Benny’s head pillowed on the curve of her backside, his fingers running gently up and down the outside of her thighs. </p><p>“Wow,” is all she can manage, and Benny laughs softly. The weight of his body on hers is the only thing keeping Beth from drifting away, having been blown sky-high (once again) by his impeccable technique. She feels remorseful, almost, in her haze: there’s no way that she could possibly reciprocate that particular act and give him the experience he just gave her. </p><p>“London,” she says, entirely too abrupt for the context. “I’m going to London, after this.”</p><p>Benny sits up slowly, only to flop down beside her with little ceremony. “Tomorrow?” </p><p>He’s still completely dressed in his black-on-black t-shirt and jeans ensemble. The gala’s dress code had been formal, technically, but there hadn’t seemed to be a federation representative or hotel employee alive that had the gall to tell Benny Watts to go change. Beth swivels her head to look at him. “Tomorrow,” she confirms, fighting limp muscles to nod a few times. </p><p>For all the time that they have spent watching each other, Beth thinks she’s only just <em> now </em> learning how to read Benny accurately. Much like herself, Benny is often very stoic in posture and expression - probably as a result of staring down an opponent from the opposite side of a chess board for so many years. He’s not overly emotive, generally, but at this point Beth is able to distinguish at least four of his different frowns. This one means, roughly, that he’s confused and possibly a bit exasperated. </p><p>“What?” she asks, feeling a little defensive. </p><p>“London is awfully far away,” says Benny, shifting his gaze towards the ceiling. Beth slides slightly closer to him in response, unconsciously trying to hold his attention. </p><p>“It’s for a magazine,” she says. “They asked me for an interview. Plus, there’s a tournament the same week, so I have more than one reason for going.” </p><p>Benny props himself up using first one elbow, then the other, to look at her with a quizzical tilt to his brow. “You don’t need to justify your trip to me.”</p><p>“You were the one who said it was so far away,” Beth responds, still a little defensive. She isn’t meaning to start a fight, so she placates by refocusing the conversation now. “It is, though. I’ll be in Europe for three weeks, almost, going to Rome and then Barcelona after London.”</p><p>“Why?” His posture is still relaxed, but there’s a slant to Benny’s gaze that wasn’t present a few moments ago. Once again, Beth unthinkingly shimmies even closer by flipping onto her side, so that their bodies are nearly touching.</p><p>“There’s a few tournaments in Europe all around the same time. They asked me to come.” She shrugs. “I think it’s a publicity thing; they like the idea of me, a <em> woman, </em> scaring their players into upping their game.” </p><p>Benny nods, thoughtful. “That would make sense, seeing as how they didn’t invite me.”</p><p>“Are you going home tomorrow?” Beth asks. Without realizing, her right hand has drifted closer, such that she’s tracing the pocket of his jeans with her finger. Benny nods, catching her hand with his own to bring it up to his face, laying her palm across his lips. He closes his eyes. Beth struggles to keep herself still for a long moment, unsure about where and when this moment will end. </p><p>“Are you sleeping? I can go.” </p><p>The grip on her hand tightens in response, sliding her wrist down towards Benny’s chest to lie on his nest of golden chains. “What gave you the impression I wanted you to leave?” he murmurs, his eyes opening to look at her, and Beth instantly feels her skin heat several degrees because his gaze is <em> smouldering</em>. </p><p>“Oh,” she whispers, watching Benny pull her hand lower and lower, sliding down across the clothed planes of his chest, his abdomen, the waistband of his pants. <em> “Oh,” </em>she breathes, as her hand ghosts over his clothed erection. </p><p>There’s a scramble now - a race to free Benny from his clothes, though perhaps it could be more accurately described as a relay because they’re taking turns shifting their weight across the bed, mouths locked all the while. Beth loves this, loves the closeness and tension and <em> desperation </em>she feels when they get like this. She loves the push and pull inside their kisses; loves that she can take back control just as easily as he’ll accept it. Is it normal, to go from zero to sixty like this all the time? Beth doesn’t know. She doesn’t have any frame of reference for this kind of consistency.</p><p>Benny’s hands pinch into the meat of her thighs, pulling her on top of his newly naked legs to sit in his lap. He inches towards the head of the bed and she follows without complaint, watches while he performs the obligatory searching-for-a-condom-in-the-dresser-drawer fumble without complaint, sits back on her heels so he can roll it on without complaint. That task complete, Beth lets her ego drink its fill of the way he gestures for her wordlessly, his expression equal parts assured that she’ll fall into his arms, and plaintively fearful about what would happen if she didn’t. </p><p>Beth lets herself fall. </p><p>Benny pulls her closer, allowing their sexes to rub wetly together aided by the lubed condom, knowing without being told that Beth needs a second to adjust to the intensity of the moment. It’s not an uncomfortable intensity, exactly, but it is self-evident in that Beth finds herself blinking repeatedly like she’s being roused from a pleasant sleep to awaken in a bright room. </p><p>“Talk to me,” Benny whispers huskily in her ear, his hands meandering across her back in a way that is both extremely intimate and supremely natural. </p><p>“I like the way you make me feel,” Beth says, filterless. “I like being around you.”</p><p>Benny <em> mmmmmm</em>s in response, groping at her ass in a way that makes her yelp in surprise. “You know, there's a word for people who like being around each other like this.”</p><p>“Like what?” Beth pushes back to look at him in the eyes, her back arching almost cat-like under the press of his hand.</p><p>“You know. People who care about each other and also get to be naked together,” he replies calmly, his fingertips still skating around her spine, her shoulder blades. It takes Beth longer than it should to piece together his implication. </p><p>“<em>Dating</em>? Is <em> that </em> what you’re talking about?” It’s a struggle to keep her tone free of incredulity. </p><p>“Would that really be so different?” he asks, his gaze piercing as ever. Perhaps, a few weeks ago, Beth would have balked at the very notion of labels and exclusivity - but now, especially in the wake of this time together, in the wake of Benny’s confession last night about his recent celibacy - perhaps it isn’t so far-fetched. </p><p>“Okay,” she says, sitting up straight, bobbing her head side-to-side in false consideration. “So, we’re dating. So what now?”</p><p>Benny catches her off guard, grabbing her waist and rotating her to the opposite side of the bed - she grunts in annoyance - and climbing on top of her, a reversal of their position a moment ago. He grinds his length at the apex of her thighs teasingly, keeping her legs spread with the palms of his hands. She lets him, partially because she’s very gracious, and partially because she apparently doesn’t mind. “Slow down there, tiger,” Benny says, grinning in his quietly vicious way. “We have to go on <em> dates </em> before we’re <em> dating.</em>”</p><p>Beth winds her fingers into the hair on the back of his head, pulling him in close. “What part of dating is <em> this</em>, then?” She punctuates the question with a roll of her hips back into him, feeling almost euphoric at the way his eyes flutter in response. </p><p>“Maybe we’re a little nontraditional,” he mutters, right before closing the short distance between their mouths. </p><p>It’s a little cliche, but sometimes when she and Benny have sex, Beth feels like she was made for it - though to admit as such would be an insult to her entire career as a chess player. All the same, there’s just something satisfying to her on a primal level about being able to feel him deeply inside her own body; to be joined in a way that brings shame to all other kinds of connection. He’s barely started fucking into her and she’s already writhing on his cock, turned into a mere tangle of live wires, when suddenly - </p><p>
  <em> Slap.  </em>
</p><p>It takes a second for Beth to register what has just happened - Benny is frozen midair, his right hand hovering above her chest, having just slapped one of her breasts which is stinging like there’s been an ice cube pressed to the skin. From the dumbfounded expression on his face, it had been entirely impulsive - she’s sure that her mouth is gaping just as widely. </p><p>Somehow, somewhere inside her own mind, Beth is watching herself in this moment; repeating the look on his face right before he struck her skin and that tiny, voyeuristic Beth is on <em> fire. </em></p><p>“Oh god, Beth  -”</p><p>“<em>Again</em>.”</p><p>Benny’s eyes grow impossibly wider. “What?”</p><p>Beth leans forward by resting on her elbows so that she can get her face as close as possible to his, compelled by a force that is entirely unseen but entirely in control. “Do it again.”</p><p>He looks like he’s going to fight her for a moment, then decides better, setting his mouth in a thin line. <em> Very </em> tentatively, he raises his left hand this time to strike the other side of her chest - though to call it a “strike” would be too generous; it’s more of a firm tap. Beth immediately succumbs to laughter, finding the combination of focus and apprehension marking Benny’s features far too endearing; feeling the tension of the moment melt into something less serious and more familiar. </p><p>He reddens - <em> actually blushes! </em>- and scowls, which is a much more familiar look. In consolation, Beth pulls him down into a series of kisses, designed to apologize wordlessly for her transgression. </p><p>“You don’t need to be gentle with me,” she says after a moment. It’s her turn to flush, now - “I actually kinda like it when you aren’t.”</p><p>“I noticed,” Benny responds with the shadow of a smirk, apparently regaining some of his usual aplomb. </p><p>“Try again?” Beth asks, her voice betraying how hopeful she is; how much she wants to see that look on his face. Weirdly enough, she doesn’t seem to care. Huh. </p><p>Benny tucks his face in her neck. “Give me a second?” </p><p>Unfortunately for him, Beth is impatient. “Here, get on your back,” she says, wiggling out from underneath his body. He sighs quietly and does as he’s been told. </p><p>Beth straddles his knees, taking a moment to stroke Benny back to full hardness - she waits until he starts groaning softly before straddling his hips and sinking down onto him, such that they’re groaning together now. She rolls her hips, picking up a little momentum, before taking Benny’s hands in hers and guiding them to rest on either side of her ass. His fingers curl automatically around her; muscle memory. “Try again?” she whispers, breathless with anticipation.  </p><p>It might be the change of position, or maybe it’s just that Beth finally acknowledged this long-dormant part of herself that she still doesn’t entirely understand - either way, this time when Benny smacks her, there is no laughter. Instead, she inhales sharply, spurred on by the sensation; rocking up and down onto him with her eyes unfocused, having been robbed of all her senses except one.</p><p>“Again,” she demands, her hands flat and firm on Benny’s chest, and he grins up at her with bright eyes. </p><p>
  <em> Slap. </em>
</p><p>Beth laughs and rolls her head backwards, exhilarated and overwhelmed in the best possible way. “Wow,” says Benny, looking positively delighted. He plants his feet firmly into the mattress, using the leverage to fuck up into her in equal measure with her own movements. </p><p>It’s how she comes, a few minutes later: utterly elated to be manhandled in this way, with Benny’s hands leaving angry red marks on her ass. She’s never been allowed to just <em> take </em> like this before, to put her own desires above all else and despite the fatigue she feels, Beth is buzzing with adrenaline and release and something else, something intangible; something <em> big</em>. </p><p>Through her haze, Beth is aware that there is more to take - Benny is beneath her, still hard and panting and needy in his own smug way. Possessed by the same force as before - heretofore unknown - she resumes her movements after a moment, renewed by the intoxicating idea that this man is entirely dependent on her for his release: only Beth Harmon, red-headed chess player from small-town Kentucky, can give this legend of a man what he needs.</p><p> The effect is immediate as Benny lies beneath her, debauched, wrecked, eager; so eager for his hips to meet hers; so eager for the bruising collision of skin against skin. Beth’s head is remarkably clear, one objective in blazing neon seared in her mind: conquer. Within a couple moments, pushed to the edge by the novelty of this moment or base animalistic desire or <em> both</em>, he is grunting a plea for mercy; her war prize.  </p><p>His hair is matted and messy, breathing ragged.  Beth revels in her triumph, her weak kiss to his cheek a small consolation to Benny’s dishevelment. She collapses down beside him. Inhales, exhales, and then: </p><p>“Oh my <em> god.” </em></p><p>“That’s the second time tonight you’ve said that, you know.” He doesn’t move a muscle, and neither does she, both of them weighted too heavily by exhaustion and the sheer gravity of all that has just transpired.</p><p>Like clockwork, Beth feels the onset of her typical post-orgasm conflict: equal parts satisfaction and shame; a niggling fear that tells her she cannot be allowed to enjoy moments like this; she’s indebted to the cost of her own pleasure, with a new layer of embarrassment - what would Mrs. Deardorff and the Meuthuen crowd think if she could see Beth now? If she saw Beth how she was tonight: wanton and brazen and bold like a <em> whore</em>?</p><p>Her stomach sinks to the point of faint nausea. Not tonight; not now, not here, in the presence of this man and his endless patience and mercy for her mistakes and transgressions, not when she already owes him so much. Too much.  </p><p>As if bestowed with otherworldly knowledge - which, frankly, would not be wholly surprising - Benny meets her halfway. “C’mere,” he says, wiggling closer and opening his arms, and it doesn’t cost her anything to comply. </p><p>He knows her. He knows her better than anyone; knows what she needs and what she doesn’t. In this moment, he knows that all she needs is just his quiet presence, his implicit assurance. </p><p>“I’m thinking about getting a camera,” she says after a long silence, her throat scratchy and dry.</p><p>Benny holds her tighter, presses a kiss to her hairline. </p><p>“Send me pictures from London?”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p><p>Spot the speed chess references from the show. Also, extra thanks to my lovely HumilatedRook, who has just released their very first fic that I highly recommend!</p><p>Tune in next time for a travel-style fic that may or may not include phone sex.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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